True Affliction - Chapter 15

A morning of steam, sparring, and stolen confessions leaves Caitríona deliciously undone and painfully certain that flirting with Alex’s ghosts is far more dangerous than flirting with his body.

My cheek rested on the solid rise of his chest, the steady thrum of his heart beneath my ear. His arm was heavy across my back, his hand splayed possessively over my hip, and between my thighs… he was still there. Still inside me. Thick. Full. A part of me like he had no intention of ever leaving.

I breathed him in feeling completely safe.

But the night before clawed its way back. The woman in navy. The man in grey. The way Alex had looked. Strung tight, cornered, fury caged in his bones.

I swallowed hard. “Alex…”

His chest rumbled with a lazy hum, his lips brushing my hairline.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

He didn’t move. Just the slow stroke of his thumb down my spine, lazy and claiming. “Mmm. Can’t stop thinking about last night either.” His mouth brushed my temple, smug and sinful. “The way you clawed at me… the way you begged. Christ, Caitríona, I’ll be hard all fucking day just remembering it.”

My head lifted, just enough to catch the glint of blue fire beneath his lashes. “Who were they?”

His mouth curved, wicked, and before I could blink his palm landed sharp on my bum, making me jolt. “That’s not how you start your morning, baby.”

Heat shot through me, half fury, half ache, but I refused to look away. “Don’t distract me.”

“Distract you?” His hips shifted beneath me, a slow, obscene grind that made my breath catch. “Baby, I’m still inside you. I don’t distract. I devour.”

“Alex.” My voice cracked, sharper now. “Tell me.”

The smirk faded. His hand clamped harder on my hip, pinning me in place. His eyes burned hotter, but colder too, the warmth gone in an instant.

“No.”

The single word was raw steel.

And there it was, the wall. The deliberate retreat into shadows he wouldn’t let me near.

Before I could push again, he shifted beneath me, sliding out of bed in one fluid motion. I watched the ripple of muscle as he stood, stretching to his full, devastating height. He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes glinting with something dark, something smug.

“I’m taking a shower.”

He padded toward the bathroom, utterly unbothered, utterly naked. At the doorway, he stopped, hand braced against the frame, and threw me that lethal half-smirk over his shoulder.

“Get your arse over here.”

I blinked at him, incredulous. “No.”

His brows lifted like I’d just offered him sport. “No?”

I tugged the sheets tighter around me, stubborn. “You don’t get to bark at me, evade every question, and then expect me to jump when you click your fingers. Enjoy your shower, Alex. Alone.”

For a beat, silence. Then his chuckle rolled low, dangerous, vibrating through the air. “Last chance, Caitríona.”

“Still no.” My chin tipped up, defiant, even as my pulse hammered. “You can’t bully me into-”

I didn’t finish, because he was already moving.

Fast. Predatory.

One second I was glaring at him from the bed, the next his hands were on me, ripping the sheets away with ruthless ease. I squealed, half shocked, half furious, as he hauled me over his shoulder, his palm branding the curve of my bare ass with a sharp slap.

“Alex!”

“You had your chance,” he growled, striding for the bathroom with me kicking uselessly against him. “You’re coming with me.”

The door slammed behind us, the cold tiles kissing my toes when he set me down. He had me caged in an instant, his big body crowding mine against the glass, every protest burning away under the heat in his eyes.

His mouth brushed my temple, wet and slow, his voice a growl against my skin. “You know what’s driving me mad this morning?” His lips dragged to my ear, teeth grazing. “I can still smell you on me.”

My pulse rioted. “I wanted answers.”

He pulled me under the spray, unhurried, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. His hands slid into my hair, fingers firm, massaging my scalp while the water streamed down. The intimacy of it made my knees weak.

“The woman,” I pressed, my voice catching. “Who was she?”

His jaw hardened against my temple. “Head back.”

“Alex-”

“Back.” The command left no room for defiance.

I obeyed, tilting as he rinsed my hair, his fingers combing through with maddening care. His mouth hovered by my ear again, velvet and rough all at once. “Do you know what I hate, Caitríona?”

My throat tightened. “What?”

His thumbs swept slow over my temples, reverent, obsessive. “The thought of you clean of me. I want you marked, ruined. I want you stepping out of this shower still dripping with me.”

Heat shot through me, shameful and sharp. “Alex…”

“Shhh.” He kissed beneath my ear, slow, claiming.

“You don’t want the truth. You want the version that makes it easier to stay.”

My voice broke, half anger, half plea. “I want the truth.”

He turned me, the spray cascading down my back now. Soap slicked between us as he worked it down my arms, slow strokes that belied the steel in his words. “You think you want to break me open.” His hips rocked forward, pressing hard against my stomach, making me feel every inch of him. “But sweetheart, you’ve no idea what’s inside.”

My breath tore from me. “Then let me.”

His eyes burned, molten and wounded, as his thumb dug into my hip. “No. What you want is to survive me. That isn’t the same.”

I gasped when he crouched suddenly, hands sliding down my thighs, soap lathering as he washed me inch by inch. The slick glide of his fingers traced the insides of my legs, spreading me open under the water. Methodical. Worshipful. Filthy.

My knees trembled, desperate for something, anything and my hands flew to his shoulders. Solid, wet muscle under my grip, clinging as if he were the only thing keeping me upright.

“Hold still.” His voice was rough, a rasp that shredded me. His teeth closed around my hip, sucking until I felt the bruise bloom, his groan muffled into my skin. “Christ, I’ll never get enough of you.”

My hands dove into his wet hair, tugging, forcing him to meet me. My chest shook with everything I couldn’t contain, with words I wasn’t ready to say. Instead, the truth slipped out raw, unguarded. My eyes stung, my throat tight. “You scare the life out of me but I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

He stilled, lips pressed hard to my skin, the spray pounding relentless around us. For one suspended beat, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe as if my words had cracked through the armour he wore so carefully.

Then he surged up, towering, water streaming down the carved lines of his chest. His hands clamped around my face, rough, unyielding, forcing my eyes to his.

Blue fire blazed back at me. Wrecked. Wild.

And then his mouth was on mine. A kiss that was battle and surrender all at once.

---

Steam still clung to my skin when Alex wrapped me in a thick white towel, his big hands dragging it slow over every inch of me. Not drying, not really. Caressing under the guise of care. He bent occasionally, pressing his mouth to my damp shoulder, my hairline, the hollow of my collarbone, like he couldn’t quite help himself.

“Done,” I murmured when he lingered too long at my thighs.

“Not even close.” His smirk ghosted the edge of his mouth as he straightened, tossing the towel aside.

I rolled my eyes, but my stomach flipped anyway as he led me into the dressing room.

Of course there were clothes. Rows of them, neat and waiting, in my size, my style, dresses that looked like they’d been chosen with terrifying precision. Heels lined in perfect order. Lingerie folded like a boutique display. None of it mine, not really. His hand was all over this room. His control, his obsession.

And opposite, his clothes. Crisp polos, stacks of dark jeans, a few blazers. No surprise. This was his hotel. His world. I was just visiting.

He dressed fast. Dark jeans hugging his hips, a black polo stretched across his chest, the sleeves gripping his biceps like a second skin. My throat went dry just looking at him.

“Stop staring,” he said without glancing up, buttoning the last button before deliberately leaving the top two open, exposing that tanned skin I wanted to bite.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied.

His eyes flicked to me, wicked and knowing. “You were.”

My hand paused on a slip of black silk. Short, scandalous, sinful in its simplicity. The kind of dress that looked innocent on the hanger but dangerous once it was on a body. Once it was on me.

I tugged it free, slipped it over damp skin, smoothed it down my thighs. The hem barely skimmed mid-thigh, the neckline low enough to make Alex combust on sight. I caught his reflection in the mirror. Blue fire locked on me instantly, his jaw tightening, knuckles flexing at his sides.

“No.”

My lips curved, slow, deliberate. “Yes.”

“Caitríona.” His tone was already lethal, the one that usually made the world stop. I only arched a brow at him in the mirror.

“It’s black,” I said sweetly, adjusting the thin straps so the silk clung even closer. “Classic. Elegant.”

“Too short.” His voice was gravel, his stare dragging over my legs like a threat. “You’re not leaving this room in that.”

“I am.” I bent, reaching for my heels, the dress riding even higher with the movement. “And you’ll live.”

His breath hissed between his teeth. The polo stretched across his chest as he raked a hand through his damp hair, fighting himself.

“You’ll kill me in that,” he muttered, stepping closer, his eyes burning hotter with every second.

“Outrageous, isn’t it?” I teased, slipping a heel on, deliberately slow.

He closed the distance in two strides, his hand clamping on my hip, tugging me back against him. His mouth hovered at my ear, his breath wrecked.

Then his hand was at my hem, fisting the black silk hard enough to bite into my thighs.

“You think you’re walking out of here in this?” His voice rasped, dangerous and amused all at once. “You’ll be lucky if I let you keep it on for the next two minutes.”

I laughed, breathless, leaning into him but defiant all the same. “You don’t get to decide what I wear, Alex.”

“Don’t I?” His hands skimmed higher, dragging the dress up inch by inch until the cool air kissed the tops of my thighs. “Baby, I decide everything that touches this body.”

I gasped when his knuckles brushed the edge of my panties, teasing, his grip brutal at my hip to hold me still.

“Off.” He nipped the shell of my ear, his voice a guttural order. “Now.”

I twisted in his arms, planting my palms against his chest, forcing a smile that trembled with heat. “Not happening.”

His eyes narrowed, blue fire searing straight through me. Then, in one ruthless move he dragged the straps down my shoulders.

“Watch me.”

The straps slipped, silk sliding over my skin, pooling at my waist. His mouth crashed onto mine, filthy and consuming, swallowing the protest I’d been about to throw.

When he ripped back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark and wrecked. “Short dress, long fight,” he muttered, his thumb brushing my bare collarbone. “You won’t win.”

“Watch me.” I shoved at his chest, slipping out of his grip, the black silk sliding back up over my shoulders as I darted toward the mirror.

His laugh rumbled low, wicked. “Run all you like.” In two strides he was behind me again, his reflection looming in the glass as his hands caught at my waist. “I’ll always catch you.”

I wriggled free, spinning out of his reach, grinning despite the heat flooding my cheeks. “Then maybe I want to be chased.”

His jaw ticked, that lethal smirk curving. “You want me to lose my mind.”

“You’re already halfway there,” I teased, tugging the hem of my dress lower as if it would help.

His eyes dragged down my legs, slow and brutal. “Halfway? Baby, I’m gone.”

He lunged again, catching one strap, tugging it down so fast I squealed, spinning to shove him back. My palms hit the solid wall of his chest, useless against the muscle there.

“Alex!”

“You still think you’re walking out of this suite in this dress?” He yanked at the second strap, only for me to slap his hand away, laughing breathlessly.

“Yes,” I fired back, darting sideways, only for his arm to snake around my waist and drag me flush against him.

“God, you infuriate me,” he growled, but his mouth was already at my jaw, teeth scraping, his hand sliding up my thigh.

Then, suddenly, he pulled back and the next thing I knew, those lethal hands were digging into my sides.

“Alex!” I shrieked, twisting, but he was relentless, pinning me to the mirrored wall with his weight as his fingers found every ticklish spot. “No- stop, oh my God-”

He laughed, low and wicked, utterly unrepentant as I squirmed. “What’s wrong, baby? Not so defiant now?” His hands chased me down my ribs, squeezing mercilessly until I crumpled, sliding down the wall.

We landed on the floor in a tangle of silk and limbs, me breathless, gasping between screams of laughter that left tears streaming down my face. “Alex! I swear- I’m going to-”

“What?” He caught me under the knees, flipping me onto my back like I weighed nothing, his fingers tormenting the tender hollows of my thighs now. “Going to what?”

I was crying, hiccuping, my belly aching from it. “I’m going to pee!”

He froze at that, grinning down at me with that lethal, boyish smirk I so rarely saw dangerous, gorgeous, maddening. His chest heaved with exertion, his hair damp from the shower, his polo clinging to every sculpted line.

“Jesus, you’re a sight,” he murmured, brushing damp strands from my face with surprising gentleness, even as his grin lingered. “My girl.”

I lay there beneath him, ruined from laughter, tears on my cheeks, my chest still shaking, and even in that ridiculous, humiliating moment, the way he looked at me made my heart stumble. Like he couldn’t believe I was his.

My fingers brushed his jaw, tentative, as if the moment might break if I touched it too hard. “You make me happy,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. Bare, unguarded.

For a beat, he froze. Just a flicker, the briefest crack in his armor before his mouth curved, slow and wicked. “Course I do.” His thumb stroked along my cheek, cocky as sin. “I’m fucking perfect.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to smother the rush of heat in my chest. ““Modest, aren’t you.”

“Just correct,” he shot back smoothly, but his eyes betrayed him. Too bright, too fierce, like my slip had lodged somewhere deep he didn’t dare touch.

---

---

The restaurant was all glass and light, the morning sun spilling across linen tables and polished cutlery. Alex strolled in like he owned the place, which of course he did, cool as a cucumber in his black polo and jeans, not a hair out of place. His hand was clamped around mine, firm and unyielding, the kind of hold that told the entire room exactly where I belonged.

Me? I trailed after him, simmering in the far more appropriate dress I’d yanked on after our little dressing room war. Not black silk. Not scandalous. A knee-skimming wrap dress in pale cream.

He was smug enough to float.

“Stop smirking,” I hissed under my breath as we followed the hostess.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured back, eyes flicking down to my hemline with deliberate satisfaction. “I win before breakfast. Sets the tone for my day.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes, but heat still pooled traitorously in my chest.

And then, of course Daniel. Standing near the terrace doors, tablet in hand, perfectly efficient in his navy suit. He inclined his head. “Ashcroft. Miss Thorne.”

Before I could even nod, Alex’s voice cut, smooth as silk and twice as sharp. “Remove every short dress from her wardrobe.”

I froze mid-step, nearly tripping over my own heel. “Alex!”

Daniel didn’t so much as blink. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes- what? No!” I turned, desperate, but he was already pivoting away like a soldier who’d just been given marching orders. “Daniel!”

Too late.

I whipped back to Alex, who was pulling out my chair with infuriating composure. “You did not just-”

“Oh, I did.” He gestured for me to sit, smug as sin. “And don’t bother arguing. They’ll be gone before we finish breakfast.”

I sat hard, glaring up at him. “You can’t just… just ban my dresses like some medieval overlord!”

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his hand heavy on the back of my chair. “Sweetheart, I don’t ban. I eliminate.” His voice dropped, velvet over steel. “And I don’t want any man seeing what’s mine.”

My jaw dropped. “You are-” I lowered my voice, seething. “-completely insane.”

He smirked, sliding into his chair across from me, cool as a king at his throne. “Mad for you. Keep up, baby.”

I grabbed my napkin, more for something to do than anything, muttering, “You’re going to have me in a potato sack at this rate.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Tempting. You’d still make it indecent.”

The waiter appeared with a polite smile, notepad poised.

Before I could open my mouth, Alex’s voice rolled out. Smooth and decisive. “Eggs Benedict for Miss Thorne. Full English for me. Two black coffees. Two orange juices please.”

I snapped my head toward him. “Excuse me? I can order for myself.”

Alex didn’t even glance at me. “You’d waste away on a croissant.” He handed the menus back to the waiter, utterly unbothered. “She’ll eat properly.”

The waiter vanished with a nod, leaving me sputtering in my chair.

He lifted his water glass with infuriating calm. “You’re welcome.”

I leaned across the table, whisper-sharp. “I didn’t thank you.”

His eyes flicked up, blue fire glinting as he sipped his water, maddeningly composed. “Trust me, you’ll thank me when you’re not fainting by noon.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “You make it sound like I’m some delicate flower.”

His smirk spread, wicked and sure. “No, baby. You’re a hurricane. But even hurricanes need fuel.”

I opened my mouth to fire back, but the words tangled in my throat when I caught it, the glances.

Not just one or two. A table of women by the window. Another near the terrace. Their eyes slid over Alex like they couldn’t help themselves, hungry and unapologetic. I felt the heat of it on my skin, even though none of them were looking at me.

Of course they weren’t.

They were looking at him.

The black polo clinging to his chest, the way he lounged back in his chair like a king surveying his kingdom, the kind of careless beauty that demanded attention without even trying.

And he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t care.

I tugged at the wrap of my dress, self-conscious under the weight of it all, wishing I could disappear into the linen tablecloth.

“Stop fidgeting,” Alex said lazily, not even looking up from his water.

“I’m not-”

His eyes flicked to mine, steady, burning. “Ignore them. They’re irrelevant.”

Easy for him to say.

Before I could argue, the waiter returned, sliding steaming plates onto the table. Eggs Benedict for me, full English for him. Coffee poured, orange juice set down.

His attention was already back on me, as if the rest of the restaurant didn’t exist.

“Eat,” he ordered simply, cutting into his toast with ruthless precision.

I picked up my fork with a stubborn huff, cutting into the perfect yolk. “I was perfectly capable of ordering this myself.”

Alex didn’t even look up. “Capable, yes. Reliable? Don’t think so.”

I arched a brow. “You make me sound reckless.”

His mouth curved as he reached for his coffee. “You are reckless.” A pause, deliberate. “Which is why you need me.”

I snorted, stabbing at my spinach. “You need a new hobby.”

“This is my hobby.” He gestured lazily toward my plate, smug as sin. “Feeding you. Saving you from your terrible decisions.”

“Breakfast isn’t a terrible decision,” I muttered.

“Starving is. And don’t even try to argue, Caitríona-” his gaze flicked up, pinning me, “-I can see in your face it’s the best thing you’ve tasted all week.”

I pressed my lips tight, determined not to smile. “You’re unbearably smug.”

“Correct,” he said smoothly, sipping his coffee like a king.

I shook my head, half laughing despite myself. “God help me.”

His smirk deepened, slow and lethal. “He won’t. You’re mine.”

I pushed my fork across the plate, narrowing my eyes at him. “Are we actually doing the session this morning? ”

Alex leaned back in his chair, stretching one arm along the backrest like he owned not just the hotel, but me too. His eyes gleamed, wicked. “Oh, we’re doing it.”

The way he said it made heat climb my neck. “I mean properly, Alex. Therapy. Not-”

He cut me off with a low laugh, sipping his coffee like the smug bastard he was. “Doctor. Patient.” His voice dropped to velvet smoke. “You can take notes while I confess all my filthy thoughts about you.”

I nearly choked on my juice. “That’s not how it works.”

“It’s exactly how it works.” He leaned forward now, voice lower, intimate, meant only for me. “You’ll sit there in your little dress with that pen poised, and I’ll tell you how every night I want you spread out on my desk”

My stomach flipped violently. “You’re shameless.”

His smirk deepened, lethal and slow. “Multitasking. Therapy and foreplay in one session.”

---

By the time I pushed my chair back, my plate was spotless. Because God forbid I leave a crumb uneaten under Alex’s watchful eye.

He rose too, slow and deliberate, adjusting his polo like he hadn’t just spent the last thirty minutes driving me insane. His hand slid to the small of my back as he steered me toward the elevator, casual to anyone watching but firm enough that I knew resistance was pointless.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered as the doors closed. “You don’t get to hijack my ten o’clock.”

His eyes cut sideways, wicked amusement glinting in the blue. “I bought your ten o’clock. Weekly. Permanently.”

“That’s not how therapy works, Alex.”

“That’s exactly how it works.” He shifted closer, his breath grazing my temple. “You’re my doctor. I’m your patient. End of.”

The elevator chimed, and before I could argue, we were walking down the hushed corridor. His office door loomed ahead, sleek and dark, a place already thick with tension from last night.

Alex held it open, gesturing me inside with infuriating civility. “After you, Doctor Thorne.”

I shot him a look as I stepped in. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

He followed, shutting the door with a soft but absolute click. “I’m enjoying you far too much.” His smirk deepened as he crossed to the emerald sofa, stretching out like he was settling in for a performance. “So, shall we begin?”

I perched stiffly on the opposite end, notebook in hand more for defense than utility. “Alright then. Patient, tell me what’s on your mind.”

His eyes gleamed, raking over me shamelessly. “Your legs. That dress. The way I’m already hard thinking about bending you over that desk.”

I groaned, covering my face with my notebook. “Hopeless.”

He lounged back like the picture of smug composure.

I dropped the notebook into my lap with a groan. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Oh, I am,” he said smoothly, lacing his fingers behind his head, biceps flexing against the black polo. “I’m perfectly serious about your legs.”

I fixed him with my best therapist stare. The one that could usually make men squirm.

He didn’t even blink. His smirk widened, slow and lethal. “God, you’re sexy when you try to be professional.”

“This is exactly why you’d be an awful patient.”

“Or your favorite.”

“Or my nightmare.”

He chuckled low, the sound rolling through the quiet office. “Think I’m already both.”

I shook my head, suppressing a laugh. “Fine. Then at least pretend to cooperate. Let’s start easy. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Hungry.”

His eyes gleamed, dark with amusement. “And not for food.”

I arched a brow. “Is that your coping mechanism? Flirting when you’re cornered?”

“Darling, I flirt when I’m bored. This-” he uncrossed his arms, his voice dropping “this is how I distract someone who gets too close.”

The air shifted. The humor slipped, replaced with something darker, quieter.

I leaned in, notebook forgotten. “So I’m too close?”

His jaw flexed. For a second, he didn’t answer. Then his eyes cut to mine, blue fire stripped of its smug veneer. “You’re under my skin, Caitríona.”

My chest tightened. His words still echoed between us, raw and unguarded, when I found myself blurting the thing I’d been circling since last night.

“The woman.”

His head tipped back against the sofa, but the shift was immediate. His jaw locking, his shoulders coiled tight.

I let the silence stretch. Then: “Why don’t you want to talk about her?”

“Caitríona-”

“You looked panicked last night, why?” I cut in, leaning closer, my voice unsteady but firm.

“She’s not important to you,” he said softly. “That’s enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His tone was low, final, but the muscle ticking in his jaw betrayed him.

I pressed on, heart in my throat. “She mattered to you once.”

Silence. His gaze flickered. Just a fraction and that was all I needed.

“She did,” I whispered, heat crawling up my spine. “Didn’t she?”

“I don’t discuss the irrelevant, Caitríona.”

Then a pause. Not raw. Not revealing. Just... evasive.

“You really want to use our time to talk about ghosts?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You mean your past?”

He shrugged, eyes lazy but sharp. “Same thing. Dead, dramatic, and better left buried.”

I leaned forward. “Funny. You seem very much haunted.”

His jaw ticked, a muscle jumping under his skin. “Careful, Doctor,” he warned, voice low, velvet-dipped steel. “Push me any harder and you’ll regret it.”

I held his gaze, pulse hammering, but I didn’t press. Not on her. Not when the storm in his eyes told me that door was bolted shut. For now.

I drew in a steadying breath, shifting away from the subject that had his whole body strung like a bow. “Then tell me about your sister.”

That flicker again. The guarded stillness. His gaze narrowed, not furious this time, but cautious.

“What about her?”

“You’ve barely mentioned her,” I said softly. “Only once. Like it hurt to even say her name.”

His jaw tightened. For a moment I thought he’d shut me out again. Then he exhaled slowly, leaning back into the sofa, eyes fixed on some point far past me.

“She’s younger. Stronger than she should’ve had to be.” His voice was low, rough at the edges. “Life… didn’t give her much choice.”

The way he said it made my chest squeeze. Love, unmistakable but threaded with something heavier, darker.

“You care for her,” I murmured.

His eyes snapped to mine, sharp, certain. ““I do.”

The conviction in his tone was absolute, fierce.

“Tell me about when you were kids.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not a smile. Something darker. “Kids don’t raise themselves without cost.”

The words landed hard. A shard of truth dropped in my lap.

I leaned forward, my voice steady but gentler now. “So you protected her?”

“I had to.” His tone was sharp, final, but his eyes betrayed him. Raw, aching. “It was her or me. And it was never going to be her.”

My throat tightened. The ache in his voice, the conviction, the regret.

“But that’s not fair,” I whispered. “To put all of that on your shoulders-”

“Life isn’t fair, Caitríona.” He cut me off, low and guttural. “And if you think I’ll sit here while you pick at my scars, you’re dead wrong.”

The warning cracked through the room, but beneath it, I heard the boy he used to be. The boy who’d carried too much, too young.

He lounged back into the sofa, one arm stretched across the top, but it was a performance. His whole body coiled tight, every line of him screaming restraint.

“I’m tired of digging up corpses,” he muttered at last.

His hand twitched against his thigh, fingers curling like they wanted something to break.

“You’re the one who came to me,” I said quietly. My voice was soft, but it landed.

“I wanted you. Don’t confuse the two.”

The words hit like a blow, but I didn’t back down. “So which is it? Do you want me to listen, or do you want me to sit here and watch you smother yourself?”

He gave a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Christ, you don’t give up.”

“No,” I said simply. “Not on you.”

Something flickered across his face. Anger maybe or something worse. Fear. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes burning into mine. “You really want to know about my childhood, Caitríona?”

I held his stare. “Yes.”

“Fine.” His eyes glinted, vicious and vulnerable all at once. “Locked doors. Smiles that cut. Rules that scar.”

The words hung heavy, jagged things between us.

“I learned to meet pain at the door and shut it up.” he went on, softer now, his voice breaking around the edges.

My chest tightened. I wanted to reach for him, to pull that pain from his bones, but before I could move his eyes found mine again. Something cracked there, raw and startling.

“But then I met you,” he whispered.

The world stilled.

“And now…” He shook his head once, breath shuddering out. “Now I don’t know if I want to outrun anything anymore. I just want to feel you. Loud. Real. Enough to drown out everything else.”

“Session’s over,” he said, soft. Almost gentle. But the edge underneath sliced like a blade.

“Careful with the questions, Caitríona.” His voice dropped, a lethal murmur.

“One day, I might actually answer.”

And I froze.

The silence clung, thick as smoke, his words still burning through me when he pushed up from the sofa in one fluid motion. The sudden absence of him beside me was a blow. The heat, the weight of his body, gone.

He stood over me, towering, blue fire locked on my face. For a second, I thought he’d just walk out. That he’d leave me gutted, trembling, alone in this room that reeked of him.

But then his hand came down, rough and sure, catching my jaw, tilting my face up. His mouth crashed onto mine. Deep, consuming, a kiss that branded rather than soothed. It tasted of salt and steel and everything he couldn’t say.

By the time he tore back, my lips were raw, my breath wrecked. His forehead lingered against mine for one devastating beat, his grip on my face unrelenting, as if he didn’t trust himself to let go.

“Goodbye, Doctor,” he murmured, voice low, ragged, a benediction and a sentence all at once.

And then he pulled away, turned, and strode for the door.

The latch clicked shut behind him.

And I was left shaking in the silence, his taste still burning on my tongue, his ghosts thrumming through my veins like they belonged to me now too.

---

---

I stayed exactly where he’d left me. Perched on the emerald sofa, notebook limp in my lap, lips still tingling from his kiss. My chest rose and fell too fast, shallow, like I’d just run miles without moving an inch.

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

The words still rang in my head, his voice raw, dangerous, threaded with something that sounded too close to broken.

I dragged a trembling hand to my mouth, pressing my fingers against the sting he’d left there, as if I could trap it. As if holding the kiss could stop the ache swelling in my chest.

He’d given me fragments. Just enough to feel the weight of it, the shape of his scars. And then he’d slammed the wall back down. Sharp, merciless, impenetrable.

The boy he had been haunted the man in front of me, and I could see it now. The shadows clinging, the ghosts he thought he’d buried. He thought he could cover them with possession, with sex, with me.

And God help me, I let him.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, fighting the hot sting. I wasn’t supposed to feel this. But he was under my skin, threading into places I couldn’t reach.

---

The door opened softly, breaking the hush of the office.

“Alex?”

I lifted my head, startled, as Gabriel stepped inside. He paused when he saw me on the sofa instead, his expression flickering, surprise, then something gentler.

“Caitríona,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

I straightened, smoothing my dress as if that could disguise how raw I felt. “He’s gone.” My voice came out thin.

Gabriel nodded once, unbothered. “I figured.” He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the far end of the sofa, leaving space between us. Not crowding. Just steady.

For a while, he said nothing. Just sat with me in the quiet, like he knew I didn’t have words left.

Then his voice came low, calm but certain. “He lets very few people sit where you are now.”

The words sank deep, a weight in my chest.

Gabriel’s gaze held mine, steady, protective. “Don’t underestimate what it costs him to feel anything at all. Every step closer to you costs him, Caitríona. But he’s still taking them.”

My breath hitched.

He rose then, smoothing his jacket, his tone softening. “Take care of yourself in this, too. Because he won’t stop holding on.”

And with a respectful nod, he left me in the quiet, the door closing softly behind him, leaving his words to echo through me, heavy and inescapable.

---

The clinic’s townhouse loomed as polished as ever, white trim gleaming in the pale light, as if its respectable façade could cleanse me of the chaos still vibrating under my skin. It didn’t.

The moment I stepped inside, Maya’s eyes shot up from behind the reception desk. Glossy nails tapped against her keyboard, but the smirk on her lips told me I’d walked straight into trouble.

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Thorne,” she said, voice dripping with mischief. “Back from your little field trip with Alexander bloody Ashcroft.”

My heels faltered. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t even try,” she sang, leaning back in her chair. “The man strolled in here, abducted you from under my nose, and left half the clinic staff swooning. And now-” she gave me a slow once-over “-you’ve got that freshly-shagged glow you’re desperately trying to pass off as bronzer.”

“Maya,” I hissed, heat rushing up my neck.

She only grinned wider. “Honestly, I’m not sure whether to applaud your taste or stage an intervention. Do you know how many women would commit minor crimes just to lick the rim of his coffee cup? And yet there he was, tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“He did not-”

“Darling, he absolutely did. I thought he was going to bang you against the stairwell wall before you made it out the front door.” She gasped theatrically, hand flying to her chest. “Please tell me he did.”

“Maya!”

“What?” She batted her lashes. “I live for this. My love life is dead. Yours, apparently, is an Oscar-winning drama, and I’d quite like a front-row seat.”

I groaned, pressing my fingers to my temples. “You’re impossible.”

“True.” She smirked, then slid a sleek black box across the counter. “Speaking of your leading man, this was delivered for you. No name, but do I really need to spell it out? I mean-” she leaned closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper “-the box actually smells rich. That’s how you know it’s from him.”

I stared at it, my stomach swooping low. “Maya-”

“Don’t ‘Maya’ me. Go on, take it. Rip it open before I do.”

Snatching it up before she could make good on the threat, I hurried down the corridor, her laughter chasing me like a wicked echo.

Behind the safety of my office door, I set the box down with shaking hands. For a moment I just stared, heart hammering, then finally lifted the lid.

Midnight blue silk spilled over my fingers. Liquid, sinful. A slip. Whisper-thin straps, scandalously short, the sort of thing made for one purpose only.

Nestled inside, a card. Black. His handwriting sharp and sure across the page.

You undo me.

And I’m terrified you’ll see how much.

-A

My breath caught.

The note trembled in my hand, the edges biting into my skin. Two lines. Just two lines and they gutted me more than any lecture, any command, any filthy demand he’d ever thrown across a room.

He was ridiculous. Obsessive, arrogant, controlling, infuriating and yet… this.

This wasn’t control. This wasn’t arrogance. This was something else. A fracture. A man who carried ghosts under his skin, who built walls out of fury and rules - and in one reckless line, he’d cracked it open and let me see the boy hiding inside.

It was worse than all the possessive notes in the world. Because I wanted to believe it. I wanted to reach straight through the paper, through the steel, through every brutal wall he threw up, and tell him I saw him.

And maybe that was the most terrifying part of all.

I folded the card slowly, my fingers shaking, and slipped it back into the box. The silk still gleamed, taunting, a promise and a trap all at once. I shoved the lid closed as if that could shut out the words burning through me.

But it was too late.

He was already under my skin.

And as I sat there in the quiet of my office, the walls pressing close around me, I realised with a shiver of dread that Alexander Ashcroft wasn’t just breaking into my life.

He was breaking me open.

Before you go, let me just say how ridiculously happy I am that you’re here, reading along and getting tangled up in this story with me. If it made you smile, blush, or ache even a little I’d love it if you left a tiny heart and a comment. Consider it a flirt back 🖤

A💋